𝐀𝐑𝐌

Minho's always been the kind of person who cooks too much.

He says it's habit — that it started with college roommates and never went away. But the truth is, he likes it. Likes the rhythm of chopping, the precision of timing, the quiet reward of watching someone go in for seconds. He hosts dinners for the precinct sometimes. Sunday barbecues with Chan and Changbin are practically tradition. And don't even get him started on the cats — spoiled, entitled little things who eat better than most humans.

So no, it's not unusual for him to cook like he's expecting company.

What's unusual is setting out a plate he pretends not to notice being taken.

It starts one night when he's grilling on his terrace — just some pork belly, kabobs, and a side of soy-glazed tofu. The smoke curls over the railing and slips through the slight gap in Seungmin's terrace door, which Minho knows is cracked open. He saw the curtain shift a few minutes ago.

He doesn't look, just slides a second plate onto the ledge. No note, no explanation. By morning, it's gone. In it's place is a clean dish and a piece of paper, folded neatly.

You never asked me to explain

The cuts I hide, the ghost of pain.

You simply stayed, no grand affair

And I mistook you for a prayer.

Not one I said, but one I meant

Before I knew how safety went.

Minho pins the letter up on the wall in his bedroom, but doesn't say anything about it the next time he sees Seungmin, which is two days later in the elevator — late afternoon, when Yonsu's at work and Seungmin has that small, quiet window of freedom. They nod at each other. Minho's wearing a hoodie that says "I Cook Better Than You" and Seungmin side-eyes it like he's about to roll his eyes, but doesn't.

Minho smirks.

That night, he leaves a plate with sweet soy chicken, rice, and lightly pickled radish. Seungmin doesn't show his face, but again, it's gone before sunrise. In it's place is another note.

"You bring me peace I never earn,

A quiet place where I don't burn.

You speak like I won't break in two,

And act like all I am is true.

I look away, you never leave.

I hold my breath—still, you believe.

It's nothing much, the way you stay.

But still, it's more than I can say."

Minho goes to the store and buys a board he hangs in his bedroom, where his growing collection of love poems get bigger, day after day.

After a week, Minho starts getting bolder. He begins plating like he would for someone actually eating with him — clean, elegant presentation, little portions of kimchi and soft-rolled egg, and on Fridays, even a dessert. Strawberry mochi, once. A couple of butter cookies from that overpriced place Chan likes.

He times it carefully — after the sun sets, before Yonsu gets home. Always makes sure the food is hot, so Seungmin has time to get to it and devour it. Subtle. Quiet. Safe.

Seungmin never says thank you.

But Minho finds pieces of paper tucked into Dori and Soonie's collars, taped on their toys, wrapped around pebbles tossed onto the ground of his terrace.

It's enough for Minho, apparently not for Seungmin.

It's just after nine. Minho's finishing up a plate of bulgogi and grilling zucchini slices over the last of the coals when he hears soft footsteps behind the terrace partition. Then, Seungmin —not even looking at him– just standing a few feet away, hiding his ink covered fingers in his paw sleeves.

"Thanks," he says. Quiet. Clipped. Like it's costing him something.Minho glances up, only lifting one brow, he liked Seungmin's other form of thank you better, but it's not like he's gonna give the omega the satisfaction of knowing such a thing. "Took you long enough." he says instead.

Seungmin almost smiles. Almost. "You make it too salty sometimes." Fucking brat. Minho feigns offense. "You're lucky I'm feeding you at all."But the plate he slides across the ledge has perfectly balanced seasoning, and this time, chili oil. The kind Seungmin didn't ask for but clearly missed.

Seungmin just stares at it for a second, then leans over the coping, reaching for the plate, grabbing it with his long arms. He picks up the chopsticks resting beside the plate and murmurs, "You cook for everyone like this?"

Minho shrugs, like it's no big deal, flipping a slice of eggplant on the grill. "I cook better for people I like."

"Mm." Seungmin tries to sound unimpressed. He's not very good at it. "I'll let you know if I find anyone like that."

Minho chuckles under his breath and doesn't look up. That's it. That's the whole exchange. But it lingers.Because after that, Seungmin starts lingering too.

Not long — a few minutes here, ten minutes there — but enough to feel it. Enough to make Minho put out extra side dishes and snacks. Enough for them to begin orbiting each other without touching, speaking in glances and quiet nights and the language of care disguised as coincidence.

Later that week, when Minho's cleaning up after dinner, he finds something tucked under the plate Seungmin returned.

A piece of paper, small and square, foldtorn from a notebook. On it is a message, short and neat, in Seungmin's loopy, cursive handwriting:

"You always make enough for two. You call it habit —I call it grace. I never ask,but I never leave crumbs.Some things don't need permissionto feel like care.."

Minho holds the paper in his palm, reading it twice, heart beating I his chest like the energizer bunny. He collects himself, embarrassed about getting so worked up over notes like a love sick teen. Then folds it carefully and slips it into the drawer beside his bed.

He says nothing the next day when they pass in the hallway.

But that night, the plate he leaves has extra pork belly and a soft-boiled egg — rich, creamy, indulgent.

This is a game of sorts, both of them move carefully, silently. So there's no dictator acknowledging their fouls. It's fun, accomplishing. And it means something extremely significant to the both of them.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

"Minho." Seungmin calls.

"Hm?"

".. Minho?" He says again.

"Uh huh?"

Seungmin sighs, taking one of the cat toys Dori had left on the porch and tossing it across the space between their terraces with pinpoint accuracy. It hits Minho right in the side of his head, who responds by slowly turning his head towards Seungmin, in a very horror movie manner.

They stare at each other for a silent few seconds, Minho's death glare scrutinizing and Seungmin's averting eyes, as guilty as sin. He doesn't give Minho the pleasure of catching his gaze till he speaks again, still in his state of attempting not to hop the terrace and grab the omega by his scruff.

"If that weren't so impressive, I'd skin you." Minho says simply.

Seungmin snorts, walking closer to the edge of the terrace. "I used to play baseball," he explains. Minho shakes his head, turning his attention back to his iPad, which is in his lap, the man with his glasses on as he swipes through pages of something on the screen.

"Minho." Seungmin says again, the older man huffs, not looking up.

"What? I'm playing Candy Crush."

"No you're not, you're looking through case files again. It's 3 am. Go to bed."

"I don't have work tomorrow."

"I didn't ask."

"You know, last time I checked, I was the adult here." Minho says, looking up over the coping to where Seungmin stands on his own terrace. The omega rolls his eyes at the recent habit Minho has developed since they've learned each others ages. Their 11 year age difference is a new source of teasing on both ends, going both ways. It's quite entertaining, actually.

"Just because your fucking ancient doesn't mean I'm any less of an adult."

"You're literally 24. You're just a baby." Minho muses, chuckling when Seungmin pouts at his words. "Yeah, 24, not 12. At least I wasn't running through the forests with the dinosaurs, old man."

"Careful, I might call one of them to come eat you alive if you keep interrupting my work." Minho remarks as he looks back down at his iPad.

Suengmin quickly comes to terms with the fact that he will not be getting Minho away from his case work like this. He could multitask for hours if it meant arguing with Seungmin and still allowing his work to absorb him.

The omega dips inside, checking to make sure Yonsu is still knocked out in his bed before slipping out of the apartment and into the building's hallway.

Minho isn't sure where the omegan man goes until the smell of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream is growing stronger as the moments pass. He doesn't turn to see where it's coming from, committed to finishing the page in his case file he's reading.

He's barely finished the last word before a hand comes over his shoulder, snatching his ipad from his grasp with a swift movement. Minho whips around, watching as a barefoot Seungmin powers off his device, giving the older man an annoyed look, like he's an insulant child and not someone old enough to be his uncle.

"Well hey."

Minho cares little for the thievery of his device and more for the fact that Seungmin had actually entered his apartment, something he'd been trying to get him to do for a long while now. Since they've become acquainted, the man has invited Seungmin over time and time again, for tea, for movie nights, to help him with his interior design.

But Seungmin has always denied, telling Minho he has a strong scent that would stick to him for hours prior to returning home, and that it would get him in trouble. When Minho would ask what type of trouble, Seungmin shy's away, silent as a mouse, which Minho has learned is not like his usual self.

"It's almost like he's trained to keep his mouth shut." Minho had continued to tell Changbin over the course of the few months he and Seungmin have gotten to know each other. To which Changbin responds every time with "Something about this guy and his boyfriend doesn't sit right with me."

Now, standing in his long skirt and oversized off the shoulder sweater, the defiant omega levels the older with a look, whipping around and walking back into his home like he owns the place. He places the ipad on the kitchen island in favor of leaning down to pet Dori, who bounces over to the omega easily as Minho's sweetest feline.

"Hello." Seungmin whispers to the animal, who turns and lets the omega pat his butt, wasting no time falling over onto his back, revealing his stomach. Minho leans against the terrace doorway, watching the interaction with soft eyes that will no doubt disappear as soon as Seungmin directs his gaze to the alpha.

Something about the whole thing is dangerously domestic. Minho pretends to not notice the way Seungmin's scent has stopped expressing a constant aura of anxiety upon entering his home, he pretends to not see the difference between the tension in his shoulders when he's at his own home versus Minho's.

What he can't ignore, though, is the horrible bruise on the back on Seungmins neck. And the way it resembles a hand print. Like someone had their fingers holding Seungmin by his nape in a death grip. Aggressively, not with the intention to redirect him, or try new things in the bedroom. Those are not bedroom bruises.They never are.

It coils something horribly ugly in Minho, a feeling he's not used to encountering in his own home, outside of work. He kneels down behind where Seungmin is sitting in his floor, Doongi and Soongie joining Dori where he's laying on the omegas skirt.

Carefully, Minho brushes the longer strands of Seungmin's hair up, inspecting the bruise closely. He touches it with his fingers lightly, other hand reaching around to gently tilt Seungmin's head forward a bit more.

Silently, Seungmin allows himself to be maneuvered, melting in Minho's strong hands. With controlled, diluted anger, the detective stands, walking through the area over into his kitchen. The bruise is maybe a day or 2 old, it's a budding blue, so it's not brand new but it is fresh.

The alpha ignores Seungmin's defeated gaze on him as he moves about his kitchen, wrapping a couple ice cubes in a plastic bag and towel, tying it securely. He grips the ice in his hand as he makes his way over to the couch, leaning against the arm rest with his legs apart.

He gives the omega a look, who responds by slowly standing from the ground, padding over to the couch and plopping himself between strong thighs. Minho pulls him back against him by his little waist, pressing the ice against the bruise, holding it there with his other arm snaking around Seungmin's torso.

It's a tense silence, probably thick enough to be cut with a knife. The cats jump onto the couch to join the pair, making themselves comfortable without any consideration for either of their personal space.

Doongi has come to accept Seungmin in time. His dad coming home from lunch and outings with the omegas love poems on a weekly basis has given him time to become accustom with the contentment it brings to Minho's dark chocolate, who wears scent blockers for the sake of not alarming Seungmin's boyfriend of his company when their out together.

They're tiptoeing a dangerously thin line with the way they are acting.

Seungmin, who has refused to enter Minho's apartment for 4 months straight, is now in his lap on his couch, humming quietly as Minho shows him a tender touch he hasn't experienced since college. Minho tries to ignore the fact that Seungmin's body is unusually cool for a human, let alone an omega.

"Why do you let him do this to you?" Minho whispers, he can feel the way Seungmin tenses in his hold, and he moves his left hand to rub his waist gently, soothing out the wrinkles in his hard outer exterior, one Minho was able to penetrate quickly.

Why? Minho isn't completely sure in himself, but he's grateful to be such a lifeline to someone like Seungmin.

"I'm not.. I don't.." the omega starts. His breath hitches when he attempts to speak. Minho is a detective, he's known of the situation longer than he would have liked to. Even so, Seungmin never wanted to acknowledge the fact. He can't stand someone else knowing that he's a fucking prisoner.

"You don't just let it happen, Minho." he starts, huffing. The detective can smell the sorrow in his scent, it's heartbreaking, it's humiliating.This is all hard for Minho, the tolerance and the feeling that he can't do anything to help immediately, even when it's quite literally his job. He can't imagine what it feels like to Seungmin.

"I never wanted to be in this situation. If I'd known I was gonna end up here I would have never even looked his way." he admits. There's a tremble in his voice, just like the one in his posture, and his hands. Minho had almost cried the first time he reached for the omega, and he flinched so hard he nearly shook the table.

Over time, Seungmin has settled in his hold. He's come to realize there's no aggression in the hold, no ill intention in his reach, no dangerous need to secure dominance over Seungmin like he's a zoo animal in a cage. Or a pet instead of a mate.

"Seungmin, look at me." Minho breathes, he hasn't been choked up like this since his 20's. In the alphas line of work, his stomach has to be strong, and his mental has to be solid. He has to eat sleep and breath composure.

But something about the way Seungmin has learned to relax in his hold, the anxious hunch in his posture smoothed out, it all seems to penetrate his exterior, affecting him in a manner that would get him taken off of a case in the snap of the fingers.

The omega pulls away, a lump in his throat as he watches Seungmins broken expression come into view. He turns towards Minho, legs hanging together over Minho's thigh and off of the couch, a position that allows him to be nestled in the alphas lap.

It's so intimate, so out of the ordinary compared to the way Seungmin usually keeps a few feet or at least inches between them. Minho can't breath, he swallows a heave, trying to keep himself together for the both of them, but he's barely successful with the new emotions that's leaked into the omegas cookie dough.

Safety, security, Minho thinks to himself, he can't help the way his heart contorts, pounding uncontrollably in his chest as tears stream down his face. Seungmin gives him a tilt of his head, reaching to caress his face, swiping tears from him.

Minho is no stranger to dealing with domestic abuse, no stranger to coming across knot head alphas who put their hands on their mates because their not worth the fuck it took to make them. But this is the first time he's been so close to it.

This is the first time he has personally come face to face with a victim of this endless cycle of blood, bruises and anger. He can't stand to watch Yonsu wear the man down, attempting to break him by sending him into the world everyday with new injuries.

Now, today, after Minho thought it had been a nice couple weeks where Seungmin hadn't come to their lunches limping, or with purple and blue spots dotting his beautiful skin, he finds out he isn't only abusing him violently.

"What happened, Minnie?" Minho asks, because Seungmin has to tell him himself. He has to have the strength to say something to him, especially if he wants to make it out of this.

Most domestic abuse cases end in 1 of 4 ways:

1: The victim finds an outing, someone to rely on and somewhere to go and the cycle ends with the abuser in jail.

2: The victim waits too long to leave and lets the cycle repeat, over and over until the abuser finally ends their life.

3: The abuser becomes bored with their victim and leaves willingly, oftentimes abusers do what they do for a sense of power and control, when they feel they've broken you, they find someone else to rule over, bored with someone they've already ruined.

"He came home from work. He wanted me to open my legs, but I didn't want to. I haven't slicked since the first time he put his hands on me, and sometimes I just can't bear to roll over and let him. But Yonsu always gets what he wants." Seungmin swallows around his words, lips quivering.

He was sexually abusing him too.

His own mate.

"You know slick has.. La-lubrication and numbing properties. But– but ever since I found out he was cheating on me, sleeping with a woman god knows how many times a week and coming home to put his hands on me, like I'm just a domestic doll to him who he has control over, I haven't been able to produce slick."

Suddenly something clicks in Minho's head, the dullness in Seungmin's scent, the limp he occasionally has in his walk, the lack of need to nest and his lack of heats despite Minho and him having been acquainted for some months now. His love for faintly smelling candles, even though pheromones should override such simple scents.

"Seungmin." Minho starts, realization daunting even before he can ask the question.

"Do you have heats?"

Seungmin gives him a pitiful look, smiling sadly at the detective. Minho doesn't know why it took so long for him to pinpoint the dullness in Seungmins faded scent. Maybe it's because he's programmed himself to let his detective brain die when he's around people he cares about, or because the tsunami of endless, anxious emotions his already ill-defined scent drowns in.

Whatever it is, he wishes he'd realized this when he first came to the conclusion the omega was being abused by his alpha.

"I used to." Seungmin answers, exhaling shakily.

There it is again, that pure and venomous rage on Minho's body, coiling like dragon fire in his chest. He breathes, shutting his eyes and taking a moment, taming that anger. Someone could take a page out of his book.

"When was the last time you had one?" he tries, rubbing Seungmins waist with a comforting tenderness. The omega looks away, not avoiding, but more calculating. He gives Minho a meek expression, like it hurts to say it out loud.

"2 years?..." he whimpers.

Suppression. The horrid taint of suppression.

Nothing about Minho's body language changes, but his rampage filled facial expression. He stares at Seungmin, disbelieving.

2 years.

2 years??

2 years without a proper heat.

Long term heat suppression is dangerous, and in some cases, fatal.

"I'm a broken omega, Minho." Seungmin begins to cry, it's shame and humiliation, the alpha pulling him closer with a hand on the back of his head. "Don't say that, baby, you're not. None of this is your fault."

"It is! It is Minho, I don't have heats, I can't detect scent, I don't produce slick, I can't even feel my own omega. Before you it hadn't moved since I got here. I'm broken and useless and–"

"Hey!" Seungmin visibly flinches at the volume of Minho's voice, he apologies quickly, pulling Seungmin from his shoulder to hold his face in his hands, keeping eye contact.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Minnie. Okay? I would never hurt you, never. But listen to me. He would. And he does. And you telling yourself all these things keeps you in the victim role."

Seungmin sobs, sniffing, red nose and face puffy in the alphas hold.

"You're not broken. He could never break you. You're still here. And you can beat this as long as you keep fighting. You decide when to stop being the victim, and part of that is to not let him make you feel worthless. You are worth something, more than that dick could ever be."

Seungmin's sniffles stop for a moment, lip quivering as he looks into Minho's gorgeous brown eyes. They sit like that for a moment, Seungmin letting the words sink into his brain, rivaling everything he's been told for the past two years of his life.

He wants to believe it, but his ability is right out of reach, almost like it's sitting in front of him, staring him in the face, but at the moment, he just can't grab it. He wants to, though, and the words keep fighting echo in his head. He can do it. He can reach out and grab his freedom. He has to. He doesn't want to be a victim anymore.

With an oxygen lacking intake of breath, the pair lean forward at the same time, catching each other's lips in their holds. Seungmin grips Minho's biceps like a lifeline, completely neglecting his need for air as they move against each other in a manner that could be described as desperate and needy.

Seungmin has lacked such closeness in intimacy for a long time, an excruciating and agonizingly long time. It feels good to be held, to be appreciated. To be consoled.

To be cared for.

When they pull away, the pair pant, heavy and pleasantly. Seungmin only makes a dawning realization after his head has stopped spinning from the taste of Minho's lips, the two still very much entangled.

"I can't go home." he tells the alpha, eyes flickering back down to his lips momentarily, before he forces himself to focus again.

"I can't– he'll– he'll smell you on me." Seungmin tells him. Minho swipes his thumb softly over Seungmins cheekbone, happy to see that the bruise he had a few days ago is gone. With it cleared, he can appreciate the omega without care for much else.

"That's alright. You can stay with me." he tells him.

Seungmin nods, leaning forward to kiss the man again, fulfillment setting in his chest.

"You can always stay with me. My door is always open. For you and for anything you need."

The omega nods again vigorously, holding back tears when their lips connect for a third time.

After that, Minho carries Seungmin to his bed. The cats sit, surrounding the pair as Minho simultaneously rubs Seungmins waist, and ices the bruise on his neck, the omega dozing, laying on Minho's chest, consoled by an alpha for the first time in a long time. For those few moments, nothing else matters to Seungmin.

Just Minho, him, and his heartbeat, consistent below where his ear is pressed near it.